Toby at the Beach - Part 1

“Toby…! Come over here right now!” a woman’s voice could be heard calling out across the crowded beach.

A boy, her son, who can’t have been more than fourteen years old, was kneeling in the sand. He looked up and turned his head in his mum’s direction. Toby had been playing happily on the sandy beach and like most boys his age, would have much preferred to continue playing. As well as enjoying himself on the beach, from time to time Toby would go and splash about in the sea to cool off, so when he was called Toby was flecked with sand. He was wearing a lovely bright pair of orange and yellow coloured speedos, the cord of which was knotted and the ends of which hung over the front of the boy-trunks. Toby stood up and called back:

“Please, mum… just another five minutes…”

“That’s what you said half-an-hour ago… you’d better get a move on if you want your ice-cream before we go home.”

Reluctantly Toby walked back to where his mum was sat on a beach towel.

“You need a rinse before we go for your ice-cream… and so do these swim-trunks,” mum said matter-of-factly as she knelt up in front of Toby. “Look at you… covered in sand!” Her hands came up to the knotted cord of her son’s speedos. Mum’s intention was clear. She was about to loosen and pull down Toby’s swim-trunks.

A shocked Toby realised what was happening in an instant: “MUM!! NOT HERE!! PLEASE…!”

“Don’t be silly darling, I don’t think anyone here is bothered about seeing your bare bottom… you’re becoming far to modest lately… I can’t think what’s got into you.”

“BUT MUM… PLEASE… I’LL BE ALL BARE IF YOU TAKE OFF MY TRUNKS!” Toby pleaded with his mum, but this had no effect on her and she proceeded to untie the knot.

“PLEASE MUM… I’m fourteen now… Please don’t take my trunks off… not here on the beach in front of everyone… EVERYONE WILL SEE ME ALL BARE!” Toby pleaded anxiously as his voice climbed an octave higher.

One could almost start to feel sorry for a boy in Toby’s position. It must have been awful for him to be made to stand still on a crowded beach while mum prepared to take down his swim-trunks. Toby must have been aware of the casual glances of curious sunbathers nearby as  his very public humiliation unfolded. Mum finished untying the knot and pulled Toby’s trunks loose enough for her to push her fingers inside. Then she tugged her son’s trunks down far enough at the front so those who were close enough could see that Toby, even though he’d told anyone listening he was fourteen years old, was still smooth and hairless where it mattered to boys of his age. Poor Toby was as bald as a billiard ball and as his boyhood was fully revealed, those watching must have wondered if this was why mum had absolutely no compunction in taking off her son’s swim-trunks on the public beach.

But whereas Toby was without doubt, demonstrably perfectly hairless, he was however possessed of a perfectly magnificent penis. Toby’s appendage, as it bobbed into view, was perfectly proportioned in length and thickness, the foreskin was neither too long nor too short; long enough to completely cover the glans and loose enough to be rolled back over the nob when required. Toby’s testicles too were nicely well developed. Hanging loosely in the wrinkled folds of their scrotal sac, one slightly lower than the other. There could be little doubt that if Toby masturbated he would be capable of full ejaculation.

Mum lugged the red and yellow swim-trunks down past Toby’s knees as he protested thereby drawing even more attention from holidaymakers nearby.

“MUM!! PLEEEASE!! NOT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!!! PLEEEASE!!”

Mum's response to this nonsense was to give Toby’s bare thighs a couple of sharp hand-smacks.

“OWW!!” was the predictable response from the boy with everything on display. Mum’s smacks caused a few mirthful smirks from Toby’s growing audience. Curious holidaymakers watched as Toby’s penis and ball-sac flopped about. Toby’s penis actually bounced up and slapped against his tummy as he twisted to avoid any more of mum’s well-placed hand-smacks.

“Toby, stand still!!” mum ordered as she pushed her son’s swim-trunks all the way down to his ankles.

Even though he was for all intents and purposes quite nude, Toby still struggled, anxiously pleading with his mother to spare him his ordeal. An ordeal he was making worse by the second, but which his audience was enjoying immensely.

“That’s enough of this nonsense, Toby! What will everyone think?!” Mum continued to scold Toby as she struggled to unhook Toby’s swim-trunks from his ankles. Then Toby lost his balance and fell, squirming into the sand. Mum was furious and she didn’t care who knew it.

“GET UP… GET UP THIS MINUTE!!!”

The holidaymakers couldn’t but notice mum how was reaching into her beach-bag…

“I’ve a good mind to spank your naughty bottom…” she said as she rummaged in the bag.

Toby was horrified. He scrambled about and got himself to his feet. Toby was covered in more sand than ever. His swim-trunks were still attached to one ankle and they too had yet more sand stuck to them. All thoughts of his public nudity appeared to have left Toby’s mind as he hobbled about trying to please mum by taking off his trunks himself.

Toby’s antics caused a ripple of laughter as he hopped from one foot to another and tried to grab hold of his trunks. Toby’s big hairless penis flopped about and bounced this way and that as he desperately tried to please his mum and so avoid the need for a spanking.

Finally Toby managed to unhook his swim-trunks and held then out at arm’s length.

“Here they are, mum… here they are... look mum I’ve taken off my swim-trunks for you…” Toby said. His desperation was palpable.

But it was too little… and too late. Mum produced a small, but nonetheless formidable looking leather strap from her beach-bag.

“OH NO!! PLEASE MUM!!! PLEASE!! PLEASE DON’T SPANK ME!!!” Toby cried.

“Toby, I’ve had just about enough of your behaviour… now stand up straight…”

Then it dawned on the audience watching the developing proceedings that mum was going to spank Toby as he stood upright!

Mum took a firm hold of Toby’s left arm and without further ado proceeded to whack her son’s bottom cheeks with her strap. Each time Toby’s bare bottom was walloped by mum’s leather strap his hips jerked forward causing his penis to bounce and jiggle about to the amusement of the onlookers.

It wasn’t only his bare bottom that received the attentions of mum’s strap, but Toby’s thighs too… back and front! Toby was bawling his head off at this point and who could blame him? The noise he made could be heard for quite a distance along the beach and people yards away could be seen to turn their heads find out where all the noise was coming from.

Toby’s face was a picture. Tears and snot streamed down his bright red face as he gasped and yelled. After each smack of mum’s strap Toby squeezed his eyes tight shut as if absorbing the painful sting... until the next thwack of the strap when his eyes would suddenly open so wide in shock they looked as if they would pop right out.

All the time this was happening Toby twisted and wriggled his bare body about, but this didn’t seem to bother mum one little bit... she always made sure each and every one of the strokes counted. Before long Toby’s bottom was blisteringly red-hot and his thighs were fire-engine red. His big smooth penis was bouncing and waggling about so much that, to everyone’s amazement, it started to look as if it was getting stiff. A few more waggles and there was no doubt about it… Toby was getting an erection right there on the beach in front of everyone!

By the time mum put the leather strap back in her bag, Toby’s penis was pointing skywards, fully erect. Toby’s shoulders heaved as tears ran down his face and dripped from his chin. As he rubbed his sore bottom and did a little dance, mum left him in full view of all the holidaymakers who’d been watching a very special ‘seaside show’, as one of the mums nearby was heard to call it. While Toby tried his best to put on a brave face after his spanking, mum gathered up her beach towel, sun-cream, magazines and all the other bits and pieces she and Toby had brought with them and put it all into a large beach bag. Then she picked up Toby’s swim-trunks and popped them into the bag as well! She turned to her naked son.

“Come along, Toby… and you can help mummy by bringing the beach bag with you.”

Gingerly Toby walked over to the side of the big beach bag. He wasn’t at all happy. Freshly spanked in public, no longer wearing his swim-trunks… or anything else! With the prospect of a long walk up the beach in the nude to the ice-cream kiosk on the seafront ahead of him, how could Toby possibly be happy?

“Mum…” Toby said in his most contrite voice, “Please can I have my swim-trunks back?”

Mum, who had walked on while her son shilly-shallied by the beach bag, turned: “Your swim-trunks are full of sand and need to be properly rinsed… that’s why they had to be taken off… the sand will go everywhere if I let you wear them…”

“... but, mum, I haven’t got anything on…” Toby whined.

“I can see that, Toby… but what’s there to get upset about… there are lots of young boys playing on the beach without any swim-trunks on and it doesn’t bother them…”

Toby swung his arm out in the direction on a group of boys playing in pools of water left by the receding tide, “... but, mum… they’re much younger than me… I was over there and one of the boys is… it’s his birthday… he’s only six…. Oh, please, mum…”

“I don’t see that makes the slightest difference, Toby… now will you hurry up and get a move on!”

You’d of had to have a heart of stone not to feel sorry for Toby as he grabbed the handles of the beach bag using both hands. He set off after mum as he lugged the bag awkwardly.

“... and will you please do something about Mr Winky… I can see his pink head peeking out from here,” mum said embarrassing Toby even further… if that was possible!

What mum meant of course, was that Toby’s foreskin was almost fully retracted due to his erection. It was bad enough for mum to mention these things in public, but what made it worse for Toby was the infantile language mum used. He gasped at the unfairness of it all and blew his cheeks out… as if he had any control over these matters, but fortunately for Toby his penis did slowly soften to the point at which it was merely pointing the way forward... when it wasn’t waggling from side to side!

Toby groaned and muttered under his breath and struggled to keep up with mum as they walked towards the esplanade where the ice-cream parlour was sited. Just before the esplanade were some open-air showers for holidaymakers to rinse off after they’d been swimming. A small group of boys, who appeared to be slightly younger than Toby, were larking about under the shower spray. Toby could see they were all wearing swim-trunks so he swung mum’s beach bag round and held it so the boys couldn’t see he was totally bare. Unfortunately his stratagem failed when mum called out for Toby to put her beach bag down and to go and rinse off under the shower.

Toby clung on to the beach bag, all that lay between him and certain humiliation at the shower stand. “I can rinse off later, mum,” Toby said, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter, but mum simply repeated herself and told Toby to go and rinse off. Her tone was more measured this time, which should have been a warning for Toby not to push his luck… such that it was.

“But, mum… the shower’s busy… those boys are using it...”

“Toby, we are not leaving this beach until every grain of sand is rinsed from your body… DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

This was enough to get the message through to Toby… and to frighten Mr Winky! Toby’s penis became completely flaccid once more.

“... and if I have any more nonsense from you,” mum continued, “your bottom will feel another dose of my little strap… do you understand, Toby?”

“Yes, mum,” Toby understood alright and he put down the beach bag.

It took no more than a split second for the boys playing about under the shower to see that Toby, walking towards them, was completely and utterly bare-nude. Another split second and the teasing chants started: “NUDIE!! NUDIE!! WHAT’S YOUR NAME… NUDIE?! LOST YOUR TRUNKS NUDIE?! NUDIE!! NUDIE!!”

Toby glanced up at mum, but it was no use. Mum wasn’t about to change her mind just because some boys were teasing him, so Toby continued walking until he was standing next to the shower. The gaggle of boys looked Toby over. One of them saw the tell-tale signs of a spanking on Toby’s bare bottom.

“WOW! Was that you we could hear?” one of the boys asked. Toby nodded. “What happened to your trunks?”

“Mum put them in the beach bag…”

“Aww… that sucks,” the boy replied.

“From the back it looks like you’re wearing a pair of red swim-trunks,” another of the boys observed.

Toby felt a hand on his bottom. It was the first boy, “WOW! You’re bum’s still mega-hot!! That was some spanking… what did she use?”

Toby explained that mum kept a short leather strap in a tote-bag, but she also had a paddle.

“Wouldn’t catch me walking about in the nude…” a third boy announced.

“I don’t suppose he wants to… his mum took them, stupid,” the first boy said, leaping to Toby’s defence.

While this was going on, Toby managed to maneuver himself under the shower rose and rinse himself as best he could. The first boy, who Toby realised was the ringleader of the group of boys, whispered into Toby’s ear: “You wanking yet?”

Toby was affronted: “Course I am… what’s it to you, anyway?”

“Just thought I’d ask… er, but we meet… sort of club… and, you know… do it… wank.”

Toby’s immediate reaction was to glance back over his shoulder to see if his mum looked as if she thought he was up to something. As far as he could tell, she didn’t.

“... it’s a sort of wanking club,” the boy was explaining as Toby carried on rinsing himself, “... thought you might want to join in… y’know… have a wank with us…”

Toby was intrigued. Nobody had ever invited him to join their wanking club… or a club of any sort, come to that. He agreed to meet the boys, thrilled by this turn of events.

The boy pushed his thumbs into the front of his swim-trunks. He looked at Toby, “I’ve got some hairs… d’ya wanna see them? None of the others have got any yet,” he explained proudly. Toby nodded and the boy pushed his thumbs deeper into his trunks, pulling them down to reveal some short wispy boy-hairs.

“There aren’t many,” Toby said as he peered at the almost translucent hairs.

“... more than you’ve got,” the boy retorted and pulled his thumbs back out of his trunks.

“Mum’s waiting… got to go,” Toby said after getting directions to the boys’ secret hideout.

“It looked as though you made friends with those boys,” mum said when Toby rejoined her again, “You certainly look a bit happier than you were a few moments ago.”

Toby picked up the beach bag again.

“What were you two boys talking about?” mum asked.

Toby knew better than to lie to mum, besides he was sure she’d seen the boy pull down the front of his swim-trunks. “He showed me his hairs,” Toby answered truthfully.

“I suppose he teased you for not having any?”

Toby winced. He hated any talk about ‘boy stuff’.

“I don’t understand why boys get so obsessed over such silly things,” mum said, ignoring Toby’s obvious discomfort, “You can’t do anything about it, Toby. One day you’ll look back and wonder why you made such a fuss about a few little hairs…”

“... but I’m not making a fuss, mum… he just showed me his hairs, that’s all…”

Mum smiled that sickeningly indulgent smile that Toby loathed. He knew mum didn’t believe him and the first thing she’d do was to let all and sundry know that Toby was upset not to have any boy-hairs yet.

“Hmm… I wonder if that’s why your friend was allowed to wear swim-trunks on the beach… he really didn’t look old enough to me. If I were his mum...”

“Mum! He’s thirteen,” Toby almost spat out, “and I’m fourteen.”

“... you were allowed to wear your swim-trunks on the beach, weren’t you, Toby… and you’re the one who got them covered in sand…”

Toby wasn’t about to push his luck (not that he was having much anyway!) and didn’t argue the point that you can’t play on the beach without getting covered in sand. He was sure mum must have suspected he was hiding something, something naughty that took place between himself and the boy he spoke to, but thankfully mum left it at that and the two of them were soon walking along the esplanade towards the ice-cream parlour.

Toby clutched the beach bag to his front and was about to tackle the subject of his nudity with mum again when she turned round to face him.

“I’d better check you rinsed all the sand off before we go in,” mum said and with that told Toby to put the bag down and hold out his arms so she could check he’d done the job properly. Mum knelt down to check Toby’s legs and just at that moment he was mortified to see a gaggle of schoolgirls approaching. The girls were of course all wearing modest one-piece swimsuits. Mum seemed to be taking much longer inspecting Toby’s legs as the girls stopped to gawp and giggle at the bare boy in front of them.

This was too much for Toby and he begged mum to make the girls go away and to stop staring,

“Oh, don’t be silly, Toby,” mum said as she looked up, “I’m sure the girls aren’t upset seeing a boy without his swim-trunks… I said before there are plenty of bare boys on the beach today…”

“... but, mum…”

“Now, Toby, I just need to check your bottom,” mum said, ignoring her son’s embarrassment.

One of the older girls piped up: “Can I help?”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” mum replied, “I’m just making sure Toby has rinsed off all the sand he managed to cover himself with when he was playing on the beach…”

“Building sandcastles, I shouldn’t wonder,” the girl said with a smile, “my little brother drives mum up the wall when he comes back from playing on the beach… he leaves sand all over the floor and in his bedroom…. Mum says it’s any wonder there’s any sand left on the beach the amount boys manage to bring indoors…”

Toby’s mum laughed at what the girl had said. She was obviously a sensible young lady, mum thought, although she couldn’t have been any older than Toby.

Toby was frozen with embarrassment. Fancy being compared with the girl’s ‘little brother’. And as for making sandcastles… he wasn’t making sandcastles, he was busy building dams and waterways to redirect the stream that cut its way through the sand at low tide. That required serious engineering.

“Shall I check to see if Toby’s left any sand between his bottom cheeks?” the girl asked, “Archie… my little brother… always forgets about the sand in his bottom…”

“That would be such a help,” mum said, “Toby does clench his bottom… you’ll have to be very firm with him… give him a spank if he doesn’t cooperate…”

“MUM!! THAT’S NOT FAIR!!” Toby yelled.

“It looks as though Toby’s bottom has already had a good spanking today,” the girl said as both she and mum ignored Toby’s outburst.

“Just look there!!” mum exclaimed when she saw a few grains of sand in Toby’s bottom crevice. “Toby, I asked you to make sure you rinsed all the sand off...If it wasn’t for…”

“Brenda,” the girl prompted giving her name.

“Thank you, Brenda,” mum said to the girl before turning back to her son, “… if it wasn’t for Brenda, you’d have left sand everywhere you sat down.” Mum rummaged in the beach bag and took out Toby’s swim-trunks and spoke to the girl again. “Here you are Brenda, you’d better use these to wipe away the sand on Toby’s bottom. Give them a shake first… they haven’t been rinsed yet, but they’ll have to do… they’re going to need a proper wash anyway.”

Brenda took the swim-trunks and gently brushed the grains of sand from between Toby’s bottom cheeks. “Gosh your bottom is still very red and very hot, Toby,” Brenda said, “You must have been a very naughty boy. Does it still sting where mummy spanked you?”

When no answer was forthcoming, mum intervened, “Toby… Brenda asked you a question…”

“Of course it stings!” Toby answered rather too petulantly for his own good as mum reached out with her left hand, grabbed Toby by the ear and pulled him downwards, forcing him to bend over. With her right hand she landed three hard spanks to each of Toby’s bottom cheeks before she let go of his ear. Toby leapt up and his hands flew round to his bottom as, without thinking, he broke into a spanking dance right in front of Brenda’s girlfriends. The girls had been watching with interest and their patience was rewarded when they saw Toby’s ‘boy-bits’ slapping and bouncing about during his impromptu dance.

It was a good minute or so before Toby became aware of his giggling audience. The girls were laughing and pointing at his penis as it jiggled about when a wide-eyed Toby suddenly realised what was happening. His hands flew back round to cup his penis and scrotum, causing more laughter among the girls.

Toby wanted to run. But where to? He was totally bare. He thought about the secret hideout… for about half a second. Even Toby knew that he’d have to get his swim-trunks or his clothes back at some point and that meant facing mum… and mum was not likely to be best pleased if he’d run off. There would be consequences… searingly-hot-bottom consequences.  As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Toby became aware of mum’s voice:

“... you are to apologise to Brenda this minute!”

Toby wasn’t daft. He apologised, no matter how indignant he felt about having to do so to a girl… a girl who was seeing him in the nude… a girl who had just wiped sand from his bottom… and moreover, a girl who can’t have been much older than he was!

Mum leaned forward and whispered in Toby’s ear.

“Aww, mum… do I have to,” Toby said in response.

“I think it’s the least you can do… now, go on,” mum said.

Toby did as he was told, turned to Brenda and spoke, “Would you like to come for an ice-cream with me and mum?”

Mum rolled her eyes upward at her son’s abuse of the English language, but Brenda said she’d love to join them. Toby’s heart sank as Brenda turned to her friends to tell them she’d catch up with them later.

The P.E. Club - Part 1

I was nineteen at the time and had been kicking my heels at home since leaving school. I guess mum was fed up with me moping about and spending too much time alone in my bedroom. One day she handed me the local newspaper which had been turned and folded to the small ads page. There, in the middle of one of the columns among items for sale and wanted, mum had circled a box which contained these words: “Wanted - smart young lad to help  supervise youngsters at a local boys’ PE Club - Suit teenage school leaver - Full training will be given - Uniform supplied.”

“There you are,” mum said in the voice I recognised at once as the one to which I was expected to agree, “That will get you out of the house and out from under my feet.”

I prevaricated and tried to think of a reason not respond to the ad, not for any particular reason, just the usual teenage egotism that makes a boy rebel against any idea that’s not his own. This attitude got me nowhere fast.

“But you liked doing PE at school, Robert,” mum said, “Your PE teacher always told me how much you enjoyed PE whenever I spoke to him… and he never failed to tell me how good you were. You always got top marks for PE at school, didn’t you, Robert?”

“Yes, mum…” I had to agree as it was true that I did enjoy gym lessons and PE, but what mum didn’t know was that I enjoyed school showers even more! You see at school although we had those big, open communal showers, there were also a set of shower cubicles each capable of accommodating three boys  at a time (or sometimes even four boys at a squeeze!). Competition for these cubicles was fierce and there was always a gaggle of totally nude boys surrounding ‘Sir’ and pleading with him to be chosen and given permission to shower with their mates in one of the cubicles.

Mum said her final words on the matter, “That’s settled then, Robert, it’d be good experience for you to get this job and it will give me a break from you moping about the place.”

So I was given little choice but to respond to the advert and a couple of days later I found myself rather nervously facing the PE club coach. I guess I would in any case have been anxious, but what alarmed me most was that I was standing in front of a female coach. I hadn’t considered the PE Club’s coach would be anyone other than a man. The advert hadn’t mentioned who ran the club and my interview appointment notice had arrived by post, so how could I have possibly known whether a man or a woman would be interviewing me?

In light of this discovery it seems somewhat frivolous to say that I felt as if I was back at school, but that was the case. Miss Stewart, who I was to address as ‘Coach’, quickly made her position of authority plain despite the fact she appeared to be no more than a few years older than myself. In response I felt and acted as if I was a schoolboy once more, which probably wasn’t that strange as I wasn’t that long out of school anyway. The way Coach spoke to me and made me stand with my hands behind my back while she sat behind her desk during the interview, reinforced my feeling of inferiority. I noticed a chair in the room over by the window, but it wasn’t offered to me and I had to remain standing.

But I have to say my interview wasn’t that unpleasant once I’d adjusted to the fact the Coach was a woman. We talked about how important it was to motivate boys and how I would be expected to assist her in the gym in addition to my duties supervising the boys’ changing-room. I knew from past experience in the school gym that a firm hand is needed to get boys to give their best and to work hard on their PE exercises.

I explained that at school our PE teacher was never satisfied until our faces were glistening with sweat, our hair matted and sticking to our scalps. Our PE singlets and shorts were always stuck to our bodies by the time our PE lesson ended and we were on our way back to the changing-room.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to your school, Robert and also to your former PE teacher,” Miss Stewart said, “The reports were most satisfactory. Your PE teacher did mention some horseplay you were involved with that took place in the school showers when you were younger, but I’m sure you will have grown out of that sort of childish behaviour.”

I tried my best to sound positive when I replied that I had, but my shame was impossible to disguise. I was mortified to think that my conduct had been discussed in such detail.

Miss Stewart saw my embarrassment and was kind enough to assure me that the sort of behaviour she and my erstwhile PE teacher had discussed would go no further: “You must understand that boys go through these phases, Robert. It is very common for boys to engage in inappropriate behaviour in the changing-room as they go through puberty. I started out as an assistant PE teacher when I was younger than you are now, Robert and believe me, there’s not much I haven’t seen.”

“I hope I can rely upon you to act in a mature manner when you are supervising the young boys who attend club meetings,” she continued, “A moderate amount of high-spirited behaviour can be anticipated and indeed tolerated up to a certain point. Beyond that point, Robert, I will expect you to step in and assert your authority. Is that clear?”

“Yes, miss… er, Coach,” I replied wondering just how and at what point I was to ‘assert my authority’.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me about? You’ll be meeting Doc in a short while… she’s most anxious to meet you, Robert. She’ll explain the other work we do with these young boys here at the club.”

I was taken aback once more by the revelation the club doctor was also a woman. Actually, and to be perfectly honest, after hearing what Miss Stewart had to say, I would have been more surprised to find out the club doctor was a man.

“The advert said you would be providing me with a uniform,” was the only thing I could think to enquire about.

“Oh, yes… you’re quite right. Doc would never forgive me if I hadn’t sorted you out with a uniform.”

I thought my uniform would be a tracksuit or something similar. Coach went to a cupboard to get my supervisor’s uniform. Even from across the room I could see there wasn’t much to it, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for what I was presented with. I very nearly blurted out, ‘Is this it?!’, but I was too stunned by the flimsy, featherlight shorts and singlet to say anything.

“Better get changed before you see Doc,” Coach said brightly, “You’ll be in uniform a lot… I’ll assign you a locker where you can leave your clothes. Once you join us you can put on your uniform straightaway, the minute you arrive.”

Miss Stewart left me to change while she attended to some club business elsewhere.

Used as I was to my school regulation PE uniform which I still wore from time-to-time when I was exercising, nothing had prepared me for my ‘club uniform’. I was shocked. It appeared to have been designed with little thought as to the embarrassment it would cause the wearer. The uniform consisted of what can best be described as very brief ‘micro-style’ shorts which were made from an extremely thin satinized material. There was no support pouch of any description and as my uniform did not come with a jockstrap, I could see I’d have to wear the micro-shorts as they were. Quickly I stripped off my clothes, anxious for Coach not to come back and find that I was not dressed in my uniform and ready to meet Doc. I stepped into the shorts and pulled them up swiftly. It quickly became apparent just how indecently exposed I was... my penis could be seen clearly protruding from the left leg of the micro-shorts.

At the time I possessed only a modest tuft of pubic hair at the base of my penis and this too was perfectly visible above the elastic waistband of the shorts. There was a mirror in the room and I tried to adjust the micro-shorts to at least minimise my shameful exposure, but it was quite impossible. The top of the shorts was not much higher than my hips which meant that whatever I did by pulling the shorts this way or that, my boy-hair remained stubbornly on view.

Next I tried to tuck my penis up into the shorts, but this failed as the legs of the shorts were generously cut to allow for good freedom of movement when exercising. Each time I pushed my penis up, it simply plopped back down and out of the shorts. I turned and looked back over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror. I stared at the back of the absurdly brief shorts, Jeez! I saw the lower curves of my bottom were quite bare and as I leant forward to try and gauge what would be seen by others when I was exercising, I almost fainted as I watched the humiliating shorts sliding upwards over my bottom, baring more and more smooth flesh.

The top half of my new uniform was not much better; just a very short singlet printed with the words ‘PE Supervisor’ that reached no lower than my midriff. My uniform was very brief indeed! A pair of white plimsolls completed my new kit.

To say that I was getting very nervous at the thought of Miss Stewart’s return, never mind meeting Doc, would be a gross understatement. As I waited I continued to make little adjustments to my uniform, but whatever I tried nothing helped. I wondered if I should at least cover my penis by cupping my hands in front of myself, or should I ask for a larger size uniform. Something told me that neither of these was an option. In the first place Coach had spoken about ‘horseplay’ and the fact there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen, so she wouldn’t be shocked by what she saw; secondly if she thought the uniform was too small for me, I was sure she wouldn’t need me to tell so.

When Coach popped her head round the door a few minutes later she said nothing to indicate that she saw anything untoward, merely asking if I was ready to meet Doc. So, acting as if everything was perfectly normal, Coach escorted me as we walked along the short corridor to Doc’s office.

The door was open and Coach ushered me inside. I could feel a slight breeze coming in through an open window as it tickled my bare legs… to say nothing of its effect on the exposed head of my penis. To my intense embarrassment I saw an older woman whose face was annoyingly, if only vaguely familiar. She was sat next to a physio bench and was introduced by Coach as the PE club doctor and I was to call her ‘Doc’.

It was awful for me to be standing in front of these two women. They appeared to be totally unaware of my extreme embarrassment. Coach walked across the room and sat down. It was clear I was to remain standing. Nothing more was said for a few long minutes and Doc took stock of me. It was horrible. All I could think about was my exposed penis and I had to fight the urge not to move my hands to the front of my shorts.

“I believe we’ve met before, Robert,” Doc said.

This really threw me. As I said Doc’s face was vaguely familiar, but I simply couldn’t place her. I mumbled something in reply which brought a smile to Doc’s face.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to remember me, but I remember you. You see I spent a number of years as a school doctor and occasionally I would carry out the regular medicals at your former school, Robert. You would have been thirteen or fourteen at the time I carried out your Tanner Stage Assessment,” she paused before adding, “Quite a fuss you made…”

Memories of those humiliating school medicals came flooding back as Doc went on to explain how she’d retired after spending many years working as a school and sports doctor, but had been persuaded to take up her post at the PE Club.

“There’s been such a demand for boys to join the club that we need a supervisor to assist us,” Doc explained.

On the wall behind her there was a row of pegs and hanging from each peg was a boy’s junior jockstrap. Doc must have seen me glancing up at them as she reached up and took one down. She offered it to me.

“This is a junior school uniform jockstrap… perhaps you are familiar with them from your days at school? All the club’s junior schoolboy jockstraps are fully compliant with school uniform regulations…” Doc explained.

I handled the flimsy little junior boy’s jockstrap. I could tell it had been well-used. The thin little straps; the tiny white pouch; the jockstrap specially designed to be worn by junior boys. If only I had a jockstrap of my own to wear, I thought as I felt my penis sliding further down my leg.

Standing in front of Coach and Doc in the skimpiest, most breathtakingly revealing PE uniform I’d ever worn was unbearably embarrassing. I could feel my penis poking out of the ultra brief micro-shorts as the interview continued. To my amazement they didn’t appear to notice as it lengthened even when I handled the junior schoolboy jockstrap. Obviously I was not meant to wear it, but to inspect it… the junior jockstrap was far too small for me anyway. It was explained that only boys who had a note from Doc which authorised them to wear a junior jockstrap, could do so. The club rules governing the use of junior boy’s jockstraps were very strict and required the boy to undergo a series of tests and examinations before they were permitted to wear one.

“One of your duties will be to carry out a close inspection of the boys’ jockstraps for wear or damage,” Doc informed me. “We have to keep a close eye on things... as boys grow, jockstraps can cause chafing between the legs and around the boy’s genitals. You’ll be expected to notify me if you see signs of soreness or rubbing in these areas.”

“Yes, Miss… sorry, Doc,” I answered as I placed the boy’s jockstrap on the bench and wondered what on earth I’d got myself into. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

“May I ask you a question, Doc?”

“Certainly, that’s what I’m here for…”

“Will I be expected to… er, examine the boys’, er genitals?” I asked nervously.

“Of course… Is that a problem?”

“Er, no… no, Doc, I just wanted to make sure that I understood… um, if that was to be one of my duties.”

“It most certainly will,” Doc replied, “Another of your tasks at the PE Club will be to chaperone the boys when they have to report for inspections and examinations… You see on these occasions the boy being examined will be fully nude and the Club rules state that when the boy is nude there must be two grown-ups present… for this purpose you will be pleased to know that as a PE Supervisor you will be regarded as being a grown-up.” Doc smiled broadly as if to say that all other times I was to be treated as a boy. Then she continued, “In part this is why we are so keen to have you join the Club. You see Coach’s time is valuable and better spent training the boys in the gym and she can’t just drop everything because a boy needs to be chaperoned… d’you see?”

I nodded my understanding.

“Good… I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.” Suddenly Doc asked me a question which took me by complete surprise: “Do you masturbate, Robert?”

I was so taken aback and merely mumbled some incoherent words so that Doc was forced to press me for an answer: “You do know what I mean by masturbation?”

I blushed and said that I understood, but my answer can’t have sounded too convincing as Doc then asked me to explain what masturbation was.

“It’s... it’s when a boy, um, rubs his, err, penis, miss, er, Doc.”

“In what way must a boy rub his penis in order to masturbate?” Doc asked calmly.

I tried to explain, but it was so embarrassing to do this in front of two women. Doc asked me again whether or not I masturbated. I finally blurted out and admitted that, yes I did do it. Yes I did masturbate and as I did so I was made to feel more ashamed than I had ever done in my young life.

To her credit Doc must have seen how upset I was to have to admit to such a personal thing in front of two adults… two adult women.

“I know it’s difficult for a boy your age to admit to masturbation,” she explained, “but the fact is I have to ask these questions, Robert, because you see boys are very often enrolled in PE club because their mums are concerned about the effects of excessive masturbation... they have either caught their sons masturbating, or have some other reason to believe their sons have started masturbating on their own or with other boys. They rightly feel their son’s energy would be better focussed on strictly supervised physical exercise, rather than masturbating in their bedrooms… We call it the ‘Masturbation Intervention Programme’. Do you understand, Robert?”

“Yes, Doc,” I replied, little realising how this would concern me.

“You might be interested to know how the programme came about,” Doc said and I could tell that I was expected to show an interest, which I did. “Well, Robert a few years ago I became involved in providing data for a rather interesting research project. In my capacity of school doctor to a number of schools I had access to the data required. I was also involved with providing physiotherapy sessions to boys’ sports clubs, so I could source data from these places too. To cut a long story short, Robert, what this research found was a correlation between exercise and masturbation…”

I must have looked bewildered as Doc continued:

“Putting it simply, Robert, we found that strict supervised physical exercise can be used to overcome compulsive and chronic masturbation in boys…”

At the point I felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding. What had mum got me into?

“When I decided to take up this post at the PE Club, Miss Stewart was a natural choice to join me as club coach. There have been a few PE Supervisors, but none of the boys we’ve had in that post have stayed… but I have high hopes of you, Robert and I think you will enjoy the challenge of working with our boys.”

There was silence and it seemed as if Doc was giving me time to absorb all this information. It didn’t help. If anything I felt worse with a distinct case of butterfly tummy stoking my anxiety.

Then Coach spoke: “We like club supervisors to set an example to the boys…” she said and I thought for one moment she was about to tell me I would have to join the Masturbation Intervention Programme when I took on the job of supervisor. However, she was was looking at the waistband of my new uniform micro-shorts… more specifically at the curls of what little pubic hair I possessed that were visible.

“I expect you’ll understand that naturally very few boys who come to the club have any pubic hair,” Coach said, “Club Rules state that pubic hair on boys is to be considered unhealthy as well as quite unnecessary. This is made clear to the parents of any boy who wish their son to join the club that a condition of membership is the complete absence of pubic hair… I’m pleased to say that of the few boys we see that have actually started to grow a few immature hairs, all have now had them removed… usually a few words with the boy’s mum is all it takes...”

In my naivety I still didn’t realise the effect of what Coach and Doc were saying would have on me, so I simply stood there unsure of what to say. With the benefit of hindsight I think my silence was interpreted as a tacit acceptance by me, that I too would be willing to comply with the many club rules that applied to the young boys who I would soon be supervising.

“Robert, do you agree an important role of a supervisor should include that of setting an example to the boys?” Doc asked with such forthright directness it was difficult for me to answer in anything other than a positive manner.

“Why, yes… of course he should,” I replied and thus sealing my fate as the new supervisor at the boys’ PE club.

The penny dropped, but by then it was too late. Far too late. I couldn’t back out. For one thing I did need this job… for another my mum would have my scalp if she found out I’d been offered the post of PE Supervisor, but had turned it down. I could just hear mum saying, “What does it matter if you have to follow a few silly rules, Robert… You take that job and be glad of it!”

By the time I was on my way home I knew exactly what ‘setting an example to the boys’ meant. I had been shorn of what little pubic hair I’d possessed. I was smooth and hairless as the boys I would be supervising. Strangely, the lack of pubic hair didn’t bother me that much, but perhaps that was because I’d also undertaken to desist from masturbating. From now on I would be part of the Masturbation Intervention Programme (MiP) and expected to comply with the club rules and Masturbation Code of Conduct. Coach gave me a copy of the leaflet which was handed to all boys on joining the PE club. I was also given a leaflet produced for club supervisors.

“How did the interview go, Robert?” mum asked cheerfully, looking up from her knitting as I walked through the door.

“Err… okay. They… Coach and Doc… they want me to start straight away… tomorrow,” I replied, “They’ve given me some, um, stuff to read…”

“That’s splendid news,” mum said to encourage me, “It’ll get you out of the house and out from under my feet… Do you good to help boys with their PE exercises. Will you get to exercise with them as well?”

“Oh, yes… there seems to be a lot more to it than just supervising the boys,” I said, still trying to get my head round the fact that I now had no pubic hair and had promised Doc and Coach that I would stop masturbating. “I think I’d better go upstairs and read through this stuff before tomorrow, mum…”

“I’ll bring you up your Ovaltine later, Robert... and mind you don’t stop up reading 'til all hours…”

“No, mum, I promise,” I said and started upstairs to my room.

“I’ll expect to see you in your pyjamas when I come up,” mum called out after me.

“Yes, mum,” I called back.

I flopped down on my bed, the same single divan that I’d slept on for as long as I could remember. I glanced round my room; at the bookshelf, the small desk, the chest of drawers and the little cupboard which, among other things, contained my modest stash of wanking literature. What would I do if I was not allowed to masturbate? Not for the first time since my meeting with Coach and Doc I wondered what I’d let myself in for.

I picked up the supervisors’ leaflet.

The introduction went to great lengths to explain masturbation and how it was performed by young teen boys. Illustrations showed various methods and some pictures actually showed boys in mid-ejaculation. The text made it clear precisely what masturbation was and even included descriptions of mutual and group masturbation practices. I turned a page to see photographs of how a boy could position himself so his erect penis was held directly over his own open mouth and in the next picture the penis was shown to be actually between the boy’s lips! There followed some text which gave a cold, clinical explanation (as if any were needed!) of exactly what the boy was doing before a further picture that made my heart skip a beat. The boy’s penis was still firmly pressed into his mouth, but he had obviously ejaculated as semen could be clearly seen oozing from between his lips which were tightly squeezing his penis. Boy-cum was dribbling down the side of his smooth chin.

Over the page to fund myself looking at a series of pictures of boys performing a ‘circle jerk’. There were six boys all aged about thirteen or fourteen and all totally nude. Each boy was holding and masturbating the boy to his right, while the boy to his left was busy masturbating him… and so on around the circle. The boys were all kneeling around a collection dish. The object of the game, so the text informed me, was for the boys to ejaculate into the dish. Having played the circle jerk game myself, I knew what one of the penalties was for the first boy to ejaculate and sure enough when I turned the page I saw a picture of the loser bent down, hands behind his back, tongue out, about to lap up the boy-cum from the dish.

It will come as no surprise to learn that by this point my penis was pressing hard against my underpants. As I continued to read the leaflet it explained how it was specifically written and illustrated for club supervisors so that we would know the sort of things boys were capable of getting up to when left unsupervised. It defined masturbation as any activity that would result in the boy experiencing an orgasm and ejaculating, assuming he had reached the milestone of spermarche of course. Thus the boy’s penis could be stimulated by hand (his own hand or that of another), by mouth (his own or another) or indeed by any other method an inventive boy could think of.

I need hardly say that I was taken aback, not to say shocked, by the explicit details contained in the leaflet, but not in the way you might imagine. You see pretty well all of the ‘activities’ described in the leaflet I had myself taken part in, but I was shocked to see that what I’d thought to be secret boy-games, weren’t so secret after all!

I looked at the Masturbation Code of Conduct. By now I was so nervous my mouth was dry. What had mum got me into? I read the leaflet that was handed to all boys when they joined the PE Club. There was a space for the boy’s name and age to be filled in on the cover. Inside the leaflet was printed:

My Masturbation Pledge

1. I will not masturbate.
2. I will not play with my penis.
3. I promise not to allow another boy to play with my penis.
4. I promise not to play with another boy’s penis.
5. I will not join in games that involve penis-play.
6. I must tell my PE Supervisor if I break my Pledge
    and tell him what happened.
7. I promise to obey my PE Supervisor at all times.

I looked at Rule 6 again: ‘I must tell my PE Supervisor if I break my Pledge...’. My heart missed a beat. That meant boys had to come to me… me their PE Supervisor, if they’d masturbated and explain to me what they’d done. If I was any judge of young teen boys it would be impossible for them not to break at least one of the rules of their ‘Masturbation Pledge’.

Wow! Things were looking up. The thought of the boys in the PE Club coming to me and explaining how they’d been masturbating with their friends and squirting boy-cum over each other made me feel incredibly bonky and ready to break Rule 1 without delay!

Looking for a way to circumvent the strict rules, I read through the Code of Conduct a few times and decided that as long as I didn’t allow myself to cum, I should at least be able to play with my penis, since masturbation was clearly defined as having to include orgasm and ejaculation.  My theory was that I should be able to stimulate myself right up to the point of cumming and then stop. ‘Edging’ was the word I’d heard some boys at school use when they were ‘saving their spunk’ for some wild orgy or other (events which took place in their fertile imaginations rather than in real life, if truth be told). So that’s what I’d do to stop myself from going crazy with frustration; I’d start edging. The trouble with prolonged edging, as I quickly found out, was that I was horny morning noon and night. It left me in an almost permanent state of semi-arousal, to say nothing of having to cope with my aching balls.